


let it settle, it's not the truth i'm telling

by lightyears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Boss's Daughter, Dirty Talk, F/M, Office Sex, Secret Relationship, Smut, You better believe it, and look i'm not saying that clarke's an exhibitionist, but clarke's an exhibitionist, is bellamy being an idiot about this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: She’s his boss’s daughter, hismentor’sdaughter, and he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t continue doing this.But as always, with Clarke right there in front of him, looking like absolutely everything he wants, the guilt that comes with the knowledge fades, drawn away by desire, and it doesn’t seem so bad.He pushes back in his chair, keeps his eyes on her as he stands up and takes measured steps towards her. She still doesn’t move, but he can see the way she’s already affected when he goes to stand in front of her. The way her throat works as she swallows, the slight flush creeping up her chest, the flare of heat darkening her eyes. She tilts her head back to meet his gaze, and he can see through the sweet smile she gives him.“Yes, Bellamy?” She asks, and he knows what she wants. He’s the one who turned her away, so he’s the one who has to ask.





	let it settle, it's not the truth i'm telling

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a quick drabble but i liked the prompt too much (blame [atlasbellamy](http://atlasbellamy.tumblr.com/)) so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ what can you do
> 
> also, [this](https://twitter.com/MisElizaJane/status/749771358876233728) is the dress i'm imagining clarke wearing in the fic (bc hot damn)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

“You look like your brain’s about to leak out of your ears.”

Bellamy feels himself smile before he even looks up, the involuntary response something he's growing used to, even when he’s trying not to think about it.

He saves the document he’s working on, leans back in his chair as he lets his eyes refocus on something other than his laptop, finding Clarke leaning against the doorframe, a small smile playing on her lips. She’s in a little black dress that looks impossibly good on her, one that hugs her curves and dips down far enough to give him an inviting glimpse of her cleavage, and all at once he feels something jolt through him, his whole body coming alight with just the sight of her.

But he’s trying not to think about that either.

“Just about,” he says, after a beat of silence, his voice coming out rough after hours of disuse. He clears his throat, takes off his glasses to run a hand over his face. “What’re you doing here?”

Clarke shrugs, smile tugging up a little higher as she steps into his office properly. “Dad wanted a few documents he realised he’d need this weekend, and I was already downtown, so I told him I’d get them. Save him the trip.” She pauses, draws her bottom lip between her teeth, and Bellamy doesn’t think he imagines the little glimmer of heat that flickers in her eyes. “I didn’t think anyone would be in this late on a Friday.”

He clears his throat again, looking away from her for just a quick moment. “Yeah, I wasn’t really planning on it. But your dad wants me to draft up an initial proposal for a new project, and I wanted to get a head start on it before next week.”

“But now your brain looks like it’s about to leak out of your ears.”

He huffs, a small laugh falling from his mouth as it tugs up into an amused smile. “So I’ve heard.”

Clarke looks at him for a long moment, her assessing gaze something he’s used to by now, before nodding once. “He hasn’t given you something like this before,” she says, and he’s not sure whether it’s meant as a question or a statement, but she’s right.

It’s the first time he’s been given this responsibility, this _opportunity_ , and he wants to do it right.

Which is why this whole Clarke thing is just — beyond complicated. Because hooking up with the boss’s daughter is one thing — one _bad enough_ thing that he never should’ve done in the first place, that he never should’ve _continued_ to do — but it’s made so much more worse when Bellamy knows just how much Jake Griffin has done for him. Taking him on as a kid fresh from college and giving him a job in the company he built from nothing. Helping him out when he found out about his mother, his sister, how he barely made it through undergrad with how little they had. Spending the past six years teaching him, guiding him, training him up to be an essential and valued part of his firm.

Bellamy owes him so much, and now —

Well, now it feels like he’s repaying the man who’s become his mentor by sleeping with his daughter.

The first time it happened was about three months ago, after a company benefit and a shared bottle of champagne, in an empty hall they’d just helped clean up. They’d been talking, easy as anything, Clarke’s feet in his lap and Bellamy’s hand settled warm and heavy on her legs, and with each swig of alcohol, talking turned to joking and laughing, had Clarke finding reasons to touch him and Bellamy pulling her closer, until they were right there next to each other, only a couple of inches apart. She was always beautiful, but that was the first night he’d seen her so dressed up, and she was just — _stunning_. In a red dress that looked perfect against her creamy skin, that hugged her curves just right, and makeup that made her eyes impossibly bluer. He’s not sure who moved first, but in a blink of an eye they were kissing, and that was it.

That's how it started.

He fucked her hard in that pretty red dress, kissed her hot and desperate as her legs curled around his hips, pulled him closer and urged him on, and he’ll never forget how she felt around him, hot and wet and perfect, will never forget the taste of champagne on her tongue or the sound of her voice chanting his name as she came.

After, he told her it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t happen again, and he ignored the way her agreement twisted something up inside of him, how the thought of never having her that close again tied knots in his stomach.

But it did happen again, about a month later after a round of drinks at their favourite bar, and then again, back at his place when she needed to drop off some documents for her dad. A fourth time in the cloakroom at a work event a few weeks ago, and a fifth in the back of her car after they ran into each other at the supermarket. Each time he’s told her the same thing — that it was the last time, that it couldn’t happen again — and each time Clarke’s accepted, her words hitting like physical blows, making his chest heavy and his mind cloud with guilt, as he watched her get dressed, as his eyes caught on the red marks he’d just left on her skin, knowing that this couldn’t last.

Because she deserves so much more, so much _better_ than this.

And honestly — _selfishly_ — he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to do it. Have her and then turn her away. The ache that comes after, wanting so much more than he can have.

He tries to remember that feeling as he looks at her.

“No, he hasn’t,” he says finally, and when Clarke’s expression softens, that ache comes early. Because she knows how much this means to him, of course she does. If it was just sex between them, it would be easier. He lets out a breath, lets himself admit, “And I want to do a good job.”

Clarke smiles, walks over to lean against his side of the desk, right next to him. She lifts a hand and runs it through his curls, and he feels the beginnings of a headache dissipate under her touch. He hasn’t seen her in over a week, since he kissed her goodbye in her car, and it’s a little overwhelming, to have her so close.

“You will,” she tells him, with that easy certainty of hers. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll write the fuck out of this proposal.” He chuckles, feeling tension run from his body, and she grins, a cheekiness to it that’s all too telling. “But you won’t do that at 11 o’clock on a Friday night. Not when you’re stressed and tired. You need _sleep_ , Bellamy. And to relax, to let off some steam.”

She says it with just the right lilt to her voice, something coy and familiar, that Bellamy sighs, eyes falling shut. He wishes she could make this easy on him, but of course she won’t.

“Clarke,” he says, serious and a little hoarse, looking up at her again, but she’s not having it.

“Bellamy,” she returns, mouth tugging into a teasing smile that he really wants to taste. But he makes himself look at her properly, not get distracted by the thought of that pretty little sigh she’d let out if he just leaned up, sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he says, forcing the words out, because he needs to say them, if only to remind himself. “It’s not — it’s not right, you know that.”

She pulls her hand back from his hair, instead settling it behind her on his desk, leaning back a little as she watches him closely. It gives him a spectacular view of her tits, but he manages to keep his eyes on her face.

“I know you like to think that,” she says after a moment. “You get really in your head about this, even when I remind you we’re both consenting adults.” Her gaze grows dark as she flicks it over him quickly, and it takes everything in him not to reach out for her, not to pull her into his lap and get his mouth on hers. “Even when I remind you there’s nothing wrong with fucking a girl who _wants_ to be fucked.”

“Clarke,” he tries again, and her name comes out desperate this time, a little strangled, somewhere between a warning and a plea.

It’s apparently enough for her to recognise just how much she’s killing him right now, because she lets up, voice going gentle and expression shifting to one of acceptance.

She lets out a breath, smiles at him again, and he tries not to notice that it’s not as bright as earlier, that he’s the reason it’s dimmed. “But I can understand why you feel like this,” she assures, voice almost resigned, even in its softness. “Like you’re — doing something wrong, like you’re betraying my dad’s trust. Even if I don’t agree that you are. So I’ll go.” She stands back up, and when his chest tightens, he ignores it, reminds himself that this is what he wants. What’s best for them both. “But seriously, you need to go home and get some sleep. Even if you don’t want to sleep _together_ , as your friend, I’m allowed to worry about you.”

She gives him another smile, small but a little teasing, like she’s trying to reassure him they’re okay, before turning around and heading to the door, and Bellamy lets himself watch her as she goes even though he knows it’s a bad idea. Hips swaying just slightly, hair cropped and brushing her shoulders, looking fucking perfect in that dress of hers.

His mind flashes to a similar image from when she lead him through the parking lot, the smooth expanse of skin her tank top revealed and the nice curve of her ass in a tiny pair of shorts, and then to the coy smile she threw him over her shoulder as she opened the door to her car and ducked into the back seat. Of pulling her into his lap and watching her as she slid down onto him, as she began to ride him hard and fast, mesmerised by the way his cock disappeared each time she fucked herself onto him, until her cunt clenched hot and tight around him and he could taste his name on her tongue as she came.

That was only last week, but still, it feels like longer. Too long.

And when he imagines it being the last time, he feels his resolve waver.

Because _fuck_ , he wants her. Wants her so much more than he ever expected himself to, so much more than he’s allowed to.

She reaches the door to his office and his throat works as he swallows past a lump.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself — he calls out to her.

“Clarke,” he manages, voice rougher than he expected, and she stops, but doesn’t turn around, not yet. She’s going to make him say it. “Just — just wait a moment.”

He runs a hand over his face, trying to put his thoughts together, trying to remember why this is such a bad idea.

He thinks about the time she dropped into the office on her lunch break, a few weeks after that first benefit, teasing him when she saw he was completing a crossword before sitting down with him and helping him out on the few clues he was having trouble with. How a week later he had her bent over her kitchen counter as he took her from behind, fingers digging into her hips and ass as she demanded him to fuck her harder, faster.

_She’s his boss’s daughter._

When he texted her to see how the opening of a new exhibit she helped put together went, and they ended up spending the whole day together as she gave him a free tour, laughing and chatting and bickering, getting to know each other better. How she dropped by his place with some files Jake wanted him to read only a few days later, how an hour into the drink she agreed to join him for she was on her back as he fucked her hot and deep, pussy feeling like heaven as he sucked a mark onto her neck.

_She’s his boss’s daughter._

The day they spent watching the first season of _Buffy_ together, sharing pizza and a six pack as she listened to his shitty predictions of who would hook up and who would die, as he let her rant about what the show did right and where it went wrong. When he pushed her up against the back wall of the cloakroom in the middle of a work event last month, sliding up her dress and tugging down her panties, hitching her leg over his shoulder and fucking her with his tongue until her thighs trembled around his head and he was lapping up her cum.

_She’s his boss’s daughte_ r.

She’s his boss’s daughter, his _mentor’s_ daughter, and he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t continue doing this.

But as always, with Clarke right there in front of him, looking like absolutely everything he wants, the guilt that comes with the knowledge fades, drawn away by desire, and it doesn’t seem so bad.

He pushes back in his chair, keeps his eyes on her as he stands up and takes measured steps towards her. She still doesn’t move, but he can see the way she’s already affected when he goes to stand in front of her. The way her throat works as she swallows, the slight flush creeping up her chest, the flare of heat darkening her eyes. She tilts her head back to meet his gaze, and he can see through the sweet smile she gives him.

“Yes, Bellamy?” She asks, and he knows what she wants. He’s the one who turned her away, so he’s the one who has to ask.

He lifts a hand to brush some hair behind her ear, keeps it there to cradle her jaw, and he feels as much as sees the way it works just slightly, like she’s trying to hold back her emotions, not wanting to reveal herself any further.

“Clarke,” he murmurs, wishing he could find the words that would make this okay, that would take back the glint of hurt he can still see in her eyes, behind the challenge and behind the heat. But he can’t, doesn’t think they really exist for them, not when they both know how this will end. In the end, he goes with the truth and hopes that for now, it’s enough. “Stay,” he says, the plea coming more easily than he wishes it did. “I want you to stay.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches him carefully, bottom lip pulled between her teeth in a contemplative gesture Bellamy recognises so easily, one that makes his mind spin a little with want. He waits, hoping he looks more patient than he feels, more in control, hoping she can’t read his thoughts — the worry that he’s fucked this up beyond repair, that he’s made the wrong move once again, stopping her like this and asking her not to go, _being so unable to make his fucking mind up about her —_ that she can’t see how much effort it’s taking him to stay as far back from her as he is, with only one point of contact between them — but Clarke’s always been too good at reading him.

Her eyes flare and her expression clears, and he watches as any doubt she had fades from her face, leaving only that earlier desire, that earlier confidence.

“Yeah?” She asks as she raises an eyebrow, and this time the worrying of her lip is definitely for show. She steps back from him, away from where his hand was still curving around her jaw, and Bellamy lets it fall to his side as he watches her find the small table sitting against the wall, lean back on it just like she did his desk, with an easy confidence that he can’t help but find a little intoxicating. “Tell me again.”

Bellamy swallows hard, feels his jaw work as the combination of anticipation and hunger flickers hot at his skin, her words drawing him closer without him even realising it. He’s all too aware of how quickly their positions have flipped, how quickly his resolve crumbled with the image of her walking away from him.

“I want you to stay,” he repeats, rough and a little wrecked, and the smile that pulls slowly at her mouth is coy, self-assured.

She brings a hand that was supporting her on the table to instead rest half up her thigh, and Bellamy feels his eyes flash when she spreads her legs just a little. “So you can watch me do this?” She asks, voice husky as she raises an eyebrow at him. There’s a slit at the front of her dress, where part of the skirt wraps around the other, and she slips her hand under it, letting out a soft breath only a few seconds later.

He can’t see what she’s doing, but he knows Clarke, and that’s the point. She wants to tease him, maybe even wants to get back at him a little for earlier. And fuck, it’s working, because Bellamy’s not sure he’s ever felt like he’s needed something so much in his life, _someone_ so much, like his very ability to breathe is dependent on Clarke and this little show of hers.

“So you can touch my cunt like this?” She continues, and his eyes dip down to see her hand working beneath her dress. From the movement he thinks she’s probably sliding her fingers up and down her pussy, past her folds to just work herself a little, and he wishes so much he could do it instead, feel her warm and slick on his hand. Need runs hot through his veins and he feels his eyes go half-lidded with desire. She smirks, something like victory darkening the expression. “Or maybe you wouldn’t.” Her gaze slides up his body slowly, until she meets his, tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “Maybe you’d be too preoccupied. If I got on my knees in front of you, wrapped my hand around your cock.” She husks a small laugh. “I haven’t done it properly yet, you know that? Taken you in my mouth, gotten you off like that. But I think we’d both enjoy it.”

She lifts one of her legs, extends it to teasingly run up his own, and it’s not a proper touch, not the warmth and electricity that comes with bare skin, but still, it makes him feel hot all over, his muscles going tight with restraint and his mind turning with the words spilling from Clarke’s mouth.

“You’d run your mouth as I sucked you nice and wet, teased you with my tongue, and I—” The look she flashes him is downright filthy, and his hands flex to tight fists. “Well, I bet I’d get so turned on that I’d end up doing this. Fucking myself on my fingers as you fucked my mouth, watching you come undone because of me. Taking everything you gave until I was too far gone mys—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence.

The last thread of self control snaps, and Bellamy’s pushing forward before he can even think about it, hands moving to cradle Clarke’s face as his mouth crashes down onto hers hard and fast.

She responds instantly, a perfect whimper escaping her mouth as her hands scramble to fist in his shirt, and he lets out a groan as he sinks into her, as if his whole body is sighing with relief, having her back in his arms, her lips on his, burning as she kisses him back just as hard. He deepens the kiss, greedy for her after the first taste, and she meets him with it, the hungry slide of her lips the perfect kind of desperate, tugging at his mind and urging him on.

Her thighs spread and he drops his hands to ease her up onto the table properly, pressing in closer as she wraps her legs around him. He can feel her, cunt hot against him even with the barrier of clothing between them, and his cock twitches in his pants, a surge of arousal that has him grinding into her a little, unable to help himself.

“Fuck,” Clarke whines, pulling back to draw in a shaky breath, and he opens his eyes to watch as hers flutter open slowly, the haziness of them making him feel hot with triumph.

His repeats the movement, and is rewarded with the dark, wanton look that flashes over Clarke’s face.

“Like that, do you?” He murmurs, rough and teasing, pressing forward to kiss her again, and she breathes a laugh against his mouth, dropping a hand from his chest to where his cock is quickly getting hard in his trousers. She gives him a squeeze, and when he grunts, he can feel the smirk on her lips as she kisses him again, teeth tugging at his lower lip.

“Not as much as you do, apparently,” she says, and his hands flex on her thighs, because he knows she’s not just talking about the kiss, the teasing press of her cunt or hand on him.

He pulls back properly, letting his gaze flit over her slowly, indulgently, taking in the way her thighs are pressed soft against him, her dress bunched up slightly around them, the goosebumps that are rising on her chest and the way her lips have been worked red and a little puffy by him.

It’s selfish, but he can’t help but catch them again, kiss her hot and desperate as her words settle in his mind, trickle through him until he feels them all over, in the simmering urgency that runs under his skin and the guilt that curls hot in his chest.

He knows what they were meant as, under everything. The dig that he can’t stay away from her, despite all his insistence that he will.

But he can’t think about that now, and because he knows Clarke won’t make him, he pushes the thought away the best he can, lets himself take her comment at face value.

“What can I say?” He says, between presses of his mouth on hers. “You’ve got a way with words, princess.”

She laughs, something breathy and a little fucked out, and he knows they’re okay.

“Yeah, well, I was a little motivated.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, holding her gaze as he finally gets his hands working again. He slides one underneath her dress, just as she had earlier, and follows the same path up to her cunt, watching as she sucks in a shaky breath. Even with her panties on, he can already feel the warmth of her, and he only has to tease his way beneath the fabric to find her hot and slick with arousal. “God, babe, so wet from playing with yourself, aren’t you?” He asks, fingers catching her clit. She whimpers, hips canting into him, and he smirks, begins to rub circles into her. “That’s it, princess. Worked yourself up with that little show you put on for me, didn’t you?”

“You weren’t _doing_ anything,” she mutters, eyes falling shut as she drops her head back a little. “Not my fault I had to get started without you.”

“And that fantasy you described, hm?” He trails his fingers down from her clit to dip into her cunt properly, earning a pretty little whine. “Get this turned on with the thought of my cock in your mouth?”

“Fuck yes,” Clarke says, grinding onto his hand a little as she looks back at him, completely unabashed. He curls his fingers, repeating the motion when her pussy clenches tight around him, begins fucking her on his hand. She lets out a shaky breath, gets her hands on the table behind her to lean back as she watches him, eyes half-lidded and dripping with desire. “Especially when I imagine it right here, in your office, with everyone else walking around outside.”

The image sends a hot burst of desire through him, something so sharp and primal his hips jerk forward.

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice dropping low and rough.

The effect is not lost on Clarke, and she holds his gaze as she continues. “You on your chair, me under your desk,” she breathes, breaking off on a whine when his other hand slips under dress too, getting on her clit. “Nobody would even know what we were doing, that I was sucking your cock, that I was fucking myself because you tasted so good. Just like—” He speeds up his fingers and she cries out softly, brows furrowing a little. “Just like that, Bell. Fuck.”

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxes, and he knows it won’t be long before she comes, not with the slight tremble of her thighs around him, the gentle flutter of her pussy on his fingers. “God, didn’t know that’s what you wanted, Clarke, right here in my office. Think you could stay quiet, though? Keep me quiet, too? We’d get caught if we made too much noise.” She clenches on him, whimpers a little, and Bellamy’s eyes flash with the realisation that that’s what’s getting her so hot, the risk of having someone walk in on them. He groans, leaning forward to kiss her, quick and desperate. “God, fucking gorgeous, Clarke,” he murmurs, keeping his forehead pressed to hers as he works her up the last little bit, fucking his fingers fast and deep into her, hitting the spot he knows makes her feel like magic. “So close, aren’t you? So close. Just let go, princess. Let go."

“Bellamy,” she whines, and he catches her mouth again, kissing her as she begins to lose herself, hips jerking into his hand as her cunt pulses tight on his fingers, as she shakes against him in release.

He draws it out for her, keeps working his fingers until she’s too worked up to kiss him properly, just mouthing at him desperately as she lets out these pretty little noises, until she’s sensitive enough that she’s pushing his hands away shakily.

“You’re ‘right,” he murmurs, easing his fingers from her, and he nuzzles at her cheek when she whimpers quietly, gets his other hand up to her neck, rubbing his thumb along the underside of her jaw; he knows by now that she likes the soothing repetition when she’s coming down from an orgasm, even if it’s not a particularly overwhelming one. “Good?” He asks, when her breathing has slowed a little, and she manages to catch his mouth in a hot and sharp kiss, as if to prove to him she is.

“Good,” she still confirms when she pulls back, voice steadier now, her hands coming up to trail over his chest. She pushes him back, enough to look at him properly, and he almost laughs when he sees the hunger already clouding her expression again. She’s fucking insatiable. “So,” she starts, curling her legs around him, tugging at her lower lips. “Wanna go back to your desk, I can show you what it’d be like?”

He hesitates for a moment, considering the dirty little fantasy that spilled from her mouth, that tugged at his mind so desperately, so unexpectedly. It’s more tempting than he wishes it was, when his office should be a reminder for all the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this with Clarke, not something that makes him feel hot all over, makes him want to grab her and fuck her without so much as a thought of who could find out — but he can’t let himself. Not because he knows he shouldn’t — although that would be the better way to make the decision — but because he knows how this works by now. If he lets them do that, it’ll be the end of the night. He’ll only allow himself so much of Clarke, and as much as the image of her on her knees in front of him, his cock in her mouth, sounds like one of the best things he can imagine, there’s something else that has it beat right now.

“Not just now,” he says, laughing a little when Clarke pouts. “Come on, babe, you’ve already come that way. Besides,” he adds, rolling his hips into her, letting her feel him hot and hard against her cunt. “I really wanna fuck you.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s easy to see through the playful disappointment when her gaze is half-lidded and her hands are trailing all over his chest, like she can’t get enough of him, even with his shirt still on.

“That’s what you always say,” she points out, which is definitely true, and he’s not surprised she’s noticed.

“Sorry you’re so irresistible,” he says, but the joke doesn’t quite land, the waver in his voice a little off, and when understanding flits through Clarke’s eyes quickly, he’s not surprised about that either.

The truth is, he wants everything with Clarke, wishes he had the time to indulge in her properly, to spend an entire day worshipping her the way she deserves, mapping her body with his hands and his mouth, to have her do the same to him. But time isn’t a luxury they have, not with stolen moments like this, not when Bellamy knows in the back of his mind that reality will soon come crashing down on him. And when he reminds himself that this could be the last time he gets to have Clarke this way, in any way at all, the desire to have her properly, to have her close, is too much.

He’s not sure how much of that she’s able to get just from looking at him, but it’s enough.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she murmurs, sliding her hands up his chest to curl tight around his shoulders, pull him close, because despite how much she could say, she’s not going to push him on this. “You’re pretty irresistible yourself, you know that?”

Bellamy laughs, but it still feels a little raw, like he’s revealed too much of himself with just one slip up, with Clarke’s ability to read him so easily. But he knows she meant what she said earlier, about understanding his reasons for not wanting to do this. And even if his resolve crumbled and he went back on his word only a minute after, she still understands.

It’s just another reason she deserves more, but he tries to push the thought away for now. He can agonise over it later.

“Yeah?” He manages to ask now, letting some false bravado slip into his voice, hoping it sounds steadier than he feels, but when Clarke’s dark gaze travels up him slowly, all hunger and need, he feels his earlier confidence return, joining the anticipation that begins to flicker hot at his skin.

“Oh yeah,” Clarke says, her eyes dropping to his mouth, and that helps too. “You should definitely fuck me.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then she’s tugging him in, claiming his mouth in a hot and eager kiss Bellamy can’t help but groan into. Tension curls tight around them, and he feels it build up just as easily as it did before, the guilt and regret that had pooled in his chest quickly replaced by the heat and electricity of desire, with the sweep of Clarke’s tongue against his and the slide of his hands down her back, the tug of her fingers as she cards them through his hair and the teasing bites he grazes over her lips.

He starts rocking into her, keeping the same pace with his hips as he does his tongue, and it’s not long before Clarke’s pulling back to draw in a breath. He doesn’t waste any time, trailing his mouth to her jaw instead, letting himself linger at the column of her neck, breathing in the perfume she wears, something soft and citrusy, and sucking marks along her skin, listening to the sweet whine she exhales in response.

“I should make you buy me concealer for all the hickeys you leave on me,” Clarke mutters breathily, and he nips at her as something hot and possessive shoots through him, at the thought of other people seeing his marks on her skin.

“You could just own them,” he suggests roughly, as he presses a final kiss to the red speckling rising on her skin, and Clarke laughs, but it’s quickly cut off by a soft moan when he ducks down lower, working a path down to her chest, when he trails his hands up at the same time, getting them on her tits and giving them a soft squeeze over her dress. “Feel good, princess?” He murmurs, a little smug, tracing his thumbs around her nipples, feeling them peak slightly under his touch.

“Shut up,” she says, and his grin is dark and wolfish as he pulls back to look at her, want flickering hot in her gaze. He tugs at the straps of her dress, pushes down the top, and his mind spins a little when he sees she’s not wearing a bra. He thought she might not be, but still, all the bare skin is a lot.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he says, taking her in hungrily, her tits as perfect as they always are, round and soft and full, nipples flushed a pretty pink, so goddamn sexy he has to reign himself in a little, remind himself not to go too fast. “Look so good, baby. Fuck.”

He cups her breasts, just getting a feel for them for a lingering moment before Clarke leans back, drawing him in closer, her hands dropping from his hair to brace herself on the table instead. He gets his mouth back on her then, lets his lips trace over the soft swells of her tits, close over her nipples to draw them into nice, hard peaks, indulging in her with his mouth and his hands until she’s squirming against him and breathing heavy, until needy little whines are escaping her mouth and she’s tugging him back off of her.

He barely gets a chance to see the flush of her face or the way her eyes are blown out before she’s kissing him again, greedy and impatient, and Bellamy feels the desperation in her touch, setting him alight with the same feeling. He slides his hands down to the top of her ass, tugging her right to the edge of the table, quick enough that Clarke gasps.

“Fuck, Bell,” she says against his lips, voice taking on that husky quality she gets when she's on edge, and he smirks as he gets the skirt of her dress in his hands, pushing it up her thighs.

“That’s the plan, princess,” he teases, and it’s a bit of shuffling and rearranging between them both, but it’s not long before Clarke’s dress is pooled around her waist and her panties are on the floor, her thighs spread apart and her pussy bare right where he’s pressed against her.

She leans forward to get his trousers open and off, and then Bellamy’s biting back a groan as her hand slips under his briefs, feeling perfect as it curls around his cock to pull him free. She gives him a few strokes, working him up the last little bit, until he’s hot and hard in her hand, the flicker of desperation thrumming through his body, so distracting it takes him a few seconds to register what she says when she leans in to kiss him, murmuring something against his mouth.

But it does come to him, and the words form a lump in his throat in seconds.

“Have you fucked anyone since me?”

He pulls back to look at her, and it takes him a moment to find his voice. When he does, he sounds wrecked.

“No,” he says, hands flexing almost possessively on her waist, and Clarke nods, something like relief crossing her face. “Fuck. No, baby. No one.”

She bites at her lip. “I just realised I don’t have a condom,” she explains, and he feels himself let out a breath. He wasn’t sure what to expect from her question, but that makes sense. “And I kind of doubted you’d have any at work. Unless?”

“No,” he says, still rough, shaking his head.

“Okay, well.” Clarke shrugs, biting at her lip. “I’m clean and on the pill. And if you’re not sleeping with anyone else—”

“No one since you,” he promises, and her grip tightens around him a little, enough that he grunts softly. “And I’m clean, too. But we can do something else. I don’t expect you to—”

“I want to fuck you,” Clarke says firmly, before leaning back in to kiss him, quick and sharp. “I want to _feel_ you,” she adds, letting the words linger, press against his lips and seep into him, the weight of them settling heavy and electrifying in his chest, and she punctuates them when she claims his mouth again, kissing him warm and deep, so much that he feels his mind unravel a little.

Her question, her relief, her desire, it all tugs at him desperately, and he wishes so much that he could tell her that she didn’t have to worry, that there’s nobody else, _that there could never be anybody else when he has her —_

But he can’t.

So he lets himself meet her with it instead, lets all the words he’s holding back pour into her with the rough press of his lips on hers, with the hot sweep of his tongue in her mouth, and feels an urgency that wasn’t there earlier build when she responds in kind. She gets her hand moving again, drawing him closer, guiding his cock between the folds of her pussy, and then he’s tasting the soft whimper she breathes into his mouth as he lines himself up and presses into her.

And she’s perfect, hot and wet and tight, everything he’s been wanting, everything he’s been telling himself he’s not allowed to have.

He pushes forward slowly, giving her the time she needs to adjust, until he’s buried inside of her, feeling her properly for the first time. It overwhelms him for a moment, everything flooding him so hard and fast he feels like he’s drowning a little, in the feeling of being so incredibly wrapped up in her, and it’s a few seconds before he’s able to move, a few seconds where they’re not doing much more than just breathing into each other’s mouths, but then Clarke’s hands are on his neck and she’s pressing against his ass, and he begins to rock into her.

And he wishes he could ease into a nice and steady pace, let it build and draw it out like he knows he should, but he can’t. Not with how good she feels, pussy hot and perfect around his cock, hands warm where they’re sliding up his jaw, tangling in his hair. Not with the soft sounds she’s making, just these little whines she always lets out when she’s getting fucked. Not with the taste of her on his tongue when he leans in to kiss her again and not with smooth warmth of her skin when he trails his hands up her back.

Instead,it’s only a half a minute before he pulls out and snaps his hips back into her hard and fast, feeling the way Clarke’s breath stutters against him, the way her fingers tug tight in his hair.

“Fuck, Bell,” she breaths, and his smile is dark and wolfish as he bites at her bottom lip, as he gets a hand under her knee, fingers flexing hard on her skin as he lifts her leg higher to get a better angle. She gasps, leaning back to brace herself with her hands on the table behind her as he presses it all the way up to rest on his shoulder, allowing him to sink deeper, and she whines again with the first thrust like that, cunt clenching on him a little tighter. “Oh, _fuck,_ ” she says, voice wavering as she readjusts to make herself more comfortable with the position. “Yeah, there. Feel so good, Bellamy _._ ”

“So do you, baby,” he husks, running his hand back down her leg, slipping it under her dress to curl around her hip. “God, fucking perfect, Clarke.”

He starts fucking into her nice and deep, letting the urgency that thrums through him set a rhythm that will have them both losing it quickly. Clarke drops her head back, eyes fluttering shut, and he watches hungrily as her hair falls away to reveal more skin, as the pretty pink that’s flushed her chest creeps up her neck and face and her tits being to move with each stroke of his hips, everything about her mesmerising him, adding to the desperation he feels at his core, twinging at the back of his mind.

“Get a hand on your tits, princess,” he says after a minute, and it almost sounds like a plea, but Clarke doesn’t seem to mind.

Her eyes are half-lidded as she looks back at him, blazing dark in that way they get when she’s feeling good like this, and her mouth tugs into that wicked smile of hers he recognises so well by now. She lifts a hand from the table, cupping herself, and gives herself a nice squeeze, sighing something soft and pleased in response, keeping her gaze tracked on him unabashedly as she does it again.

“You love watching me,” she murmurs, lifting her hand to her mouth for just a moment, getting her fingers wet, and he huffs out a wrecked laugh, because really — she has no idea.

“How could I not?” He asks, eyes sweeping over her, watching as she circles her thumb around her nipple, as it peaks as she starts to work it. He feels his hands tense where they’re settled against her with desire to play with her himself. “God, babe, you should see yourself. Never seen anyone look so sexy.”

“Yeah?” She bites at her lip. “You should watch me fuck myself at home, I could give you a real nice show.” Bellamy swears as he stutters in his rhythm, a rush of hot tension rolling through him at her words, and Clarke whines, eyes flashing with that dark confidence again. “Yeah, I think you’d like that. Maybe not as much as me taking your cock in my mouth right here in your office, but— _fuck,_ yeah, Bell,” she cuts herself off, eyes falling shut when he shifts his hips, changing the angle just slightly, hitting her just right. “Yeah, God, just there. That’s so good, baby, so good.”

“Fuck, Clarke,” he grinds out, taking her in hungrily, trying not to let his mind run too far even though he can already feel it starting to unravel.

He picks up the pace, fucking into her faster, rewarded with the pleased noises she makes, and he knows she’s close, can hear it in the throatiness of her voice and see in the crease between her brows, can feel it in the tremble of her leg where it’s raised against him and the early pulsing of her pussy around his cock. He gets his fingers back to her cunt, careful to keep her steady with just one hand on her back, and presses just above where they’re joined, catching her clit and rubbing rough circles into her, just how he knows she likes.

She whines, hips jerking a little, eyes fluttering open to look at him again, and somehow it’s that that pulls away the last semblance of self control.

Because he knows what it is, knows how much she loves to watch him watch _her,_ loves the feeling of his attentive gaze hot all over her, and it makes his mind spin, just with _Clarke._

“Fuck, baby,” he husks, voice low as he continues to fuck her nice and deep. “God, see what you do to me? Looking like that when you come to see me?” His gaze sweeps over her again, and he sees the shiver that runs through her. “Saying those filthy things? Makes me fucking crazy, princess.”

“You know I — _fuck,_ you know that’s what I like.”

“Yeah, babe, I know,” he murmurs, laughing a little, rough. “God, you feel so good. Can’t wait to feel you fall apart. Can’t wait to watch you.” She whines again, reaching up to him with the hand that was playing with her breasts, curling a hand back in his hair instead, and he presses his mouth to her arm immediately, tasting her skin. “That’s it, princess. Just let go, let me see you.”

It’s only a few more snaps of his hips into her, hitting a spot that makes her breath hitch, another few swipes of his fingers on the hot pulse of her clit, and then she’s coming, pussy clenching tight around him. He drinks her in greedily as he fucks her through it, the way her mouth falls open, lips red and worked from him, the way she arches with release, chest pressing closer to him, legs trembling against him, and finally it’s all too much, the feeling of her wet and tight on his cock, no barrier between them, the sound of her coming apart because of him, and the familiar sensation pulses down his spine, making him tense as everything pulls tight with pleasure and he spills into her.

They’re both breathing hard when he comes down, and he nuzzles at the inside of Clarke’s wrist, gives them a minute before pulling out of her, her arousal slick on his softening cock. He guides her leg from his shoulder, thumb rubbing at her hip when she winces softly, before shifting her back on the table properly, and he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but lean forward and catch her mouth again, kiss her slow and warm, just easing her back down, letting his hands run over her arms soothingly the way he knows she likes.

Her mouth is soft against him, and it trickles in slowly, between the gentle slide of her lips and the easy sweep of her tongue. Something beeps, and he registers the sound of his laptop battery dying only a few feet away just as Clarke grazes her teeth just lightly over his bottom lip. His hands slide up to her neck, the flutter of her pulse against his thumb, and his mind flashes to the image of that necklace she wears so often, the one he knows she got from her dad.

She pulls back, drawing in a breath, and a prickling feeling creeps hot in his chest, sharper than the anticipation that was there earlier. He presses his forehead to hers, recognising it for the guilt it’ll quickly become, and lets himself linger there with her for another moment, just wanting a few more seconds to breathe her in.

When he does move, it’s to tuck himself back into his trouser, go to his desk to grab a few tissues before walking back to Clarke. She’s only just opening her eyes now, and her throat works a little, softer than he normally gets to see her, in a way that makes him ache. He offers her the tissues and she takes them, just holding them for now, not yet interested in cleaning herself up.

“Bellamy,” she says, so gentle he can’t help but look away, refocus his gaze on the frame just behind her without really meaning to.

The certificate of his graduate degree hanging on the wall.

He almost wants to laugh, reality crashing down on him instantly.

The degree Jake’s helped Bellamy pay for, in the office he’s given him, all because he believes in him, trusts him.

Clarke gets the top of her dress back on properly, covering herself up, and he looks back at her, hating the understanding that’s already growing in her eyes, because she knows. She’s become one of his best friends in these past few months, despite this fucked up relationship of theirs; of course she knows.

“This is the last time,” Bellamy says, forcing the words past the tightness of his throat, and Clarke just lets out a shaky breath, nods.

She doesn’t fight him on it. He’s pretty sure she never will.

Instead, she takes his hand, gives it a gentle squeeze, and he can feel himself relax with her touch, despite everything.

God, he’s an asshole.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, voice soft and maybe a little disbelieving, but he tries not to notice it. “Whatever you say, Bellamy.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry lol
> 
> but thanks for reading, hope the smut was enough to make up for the slight angst
> 
> also i'm think of making this into a series, lemme know if you'd be interested in that!
> 
> also x2, kudos/comments are great and i will love you forever for leaving


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